A few days we had snow, snow that was deep enough to make snowballs and to feel the satisfying crunch as you walk. Then it rained and overnight the snow was gone except where it had huddled up to a wall or fence like a lost animal. There is something about the snow that offers new beginnings, a cleansing of grey skies and cloud. It is like repainting a room. All at once everything seems brighter, clearer, cleaner. When the snow is there the colours of the landscape may be lessened but there is a beauty in the muted greens and blues and gingery rusts of hills and trees.

It is strange, the snow, not like ice. It gently throws a blanket over the vulnerable. I looked for the the primrose and the lesser Celandine that had begun to flower before the snow. And they were there. Their bright yellow flowers looking out from the ivy and grasses, kept safe. And now the primroses are spreading down the lane, colouring the place with spring.